Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon

* * *

Between the mountains and the plain
We leaned upon a rampart old;
Beneath, branch--blossoms trembled white;
Far--off a dusky fringe of rain
Brushed low along a sky of gold,
Where earth spread lost in endless light.

The mountains in their glory rose,
Peak thronging peak; cloud--shadows mapped
The purpling brown with milky blue;
Removed, austere, shone rarer snows
Above dark ridges vapour--wrapped--
Afar shone, Love, for me and you.

Sky--seeking mountains, boundless plain!
Old walls, and April--blossomed trees!
Of ever--young, world--ancient power,
The height, the space, was your refrain.
In us, us too, eternities
Made of that moment a white flower. 

1. Now That I Have Won
2. The Dead to the Living
3. Whitechapel High Road
4. Inheritance
5. Ah, Now This Happy Month Is Gone

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